


Broken Fugue

by komorebirei, mireille (komorebirei)



Series: Rêveries, Passions (Music AU) [1]
Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Adrien Is A Flirt, Aged-Up Character(s), Angst, Bittersweet, Complicated Relationships, Drama, Escapism, F/M, Family Issues, Fluff, Friendship/Love, Gabriel Is Not Evil But He Acts Like It Sometimes, Happy Ending, Hot Mess Adrien Agreste, Identity Complications, Illness, Jazz Club AU, Ladybug Goes By Coccinelle, Marichat-Vibe Adrienette, Music AU, Music Nerdiness, Music school AU, Mutual Pining, Not A KimiUso/Your Lie in April Crossover, Psychological issues, Romance, University age, character tags will be added as they appear, no kwamis, no miraculous, non-magic au, partial reveal, relationship repair
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-13
Updated: 2020-02-11
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:28:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21782932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/komorebirei/pseuds/komorebirei, https://archiveofourown.org/users/komorebirei/pseuds/mireille
Summary: Adrien Agreste. Twenty years old, world-renowned piano prodigy, in his final year at Françoise Dupont School of Music. Reluctant to accept the yoke of his father’s expectations, Adrien seeks solace in a local jazz club as the masked Chat Noir. Haunted by his mother’s illness and death, Adrien surrounds himself with people, but keeps them at arm’s length… until he meets Marinette.Marinette Dupain-Cheng. Nineteen years old, budding violinist, in her second year at the music school. Determined to touch the hearts of people with her playing, she works hard to succeed as a soloist. She feels like she’s hitting a wall, until she learns that she can grow just as much by letting go as by powering through it.A story of love, fear, and learning to run toward life instead of away from it.
Relationships: Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir/Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug
Series: Rêveries, Passions (Music AU) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1569808
Comments: 45
Kudos: 68





	1. Between Dream and Reality

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! Okay, I admit it, the last line of the summary is shamelessly cheesy with the musical metaphors. :P But it hints at the meaning behind the title, which I probably won't explain for a while.
> 
> This AU is my baby. I've been sitting on my ideas and notes, only going so far to release a [series of drabbles](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20121214/chapters/47666317) in non-chronological order, out of half-fear that I'll end up messing it up and have to scrap the idea that I fell in love with. However, if I don't just start posting it, I'm going to think myself into a hole and it'll never get written. So, I'm just going to start posting it. If anything mentioned in the chapter refers to a drabble, I'll include a link to it just in case you want to know more.
> 
> This series starts in early December. Marinette is in her second year, and Adrien is in his final (third) year. She's nineteen, and he's twenty. This work will go in chronological order and follow a specific plot, but there are many extra and background scenes I've imagined for this AU that I don't want to convolute the main storyline with, so I will be posting them in a separate work called "Fantaisie." Unlike the [drabbles](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20121214/chapters/47666317), I will make notes on when stuff happens so they can actually add to the story instead of making things more confusing.

The air is brisk, and Marinette tugs her millennial pink fuzzy overcoat tighter around her as she and Adrien emerge from the subway.

“Why don’t you just zip it up?” he inquires incredulously.

“Being cold is the price of fashion,” Marinette states solemnly, sliding one hand between the overlapping flaps of her coat. “This coat doesn’t look good zipped up.”

Adrien snorts. “So impractical. I’d say it’s a poorly designed coat.”

A shudder wracks Marinette’s small frame as a gust of wind hits them. “Ugh, so cold!”

“You should have dressed for the weather. Don’t you have a better coat?” Adrien scolds lightly. “And where are your gloves? You, of all people, should protect your hands more.”

“I don’t see you wearing gloves, Mr. Beethoven,” Marinette retorts, teeth chattering.

“Because my coat buttons up, and I have pockets, so I don’t need them, silly.” Adrien looks down his nose at her with joking haughtiness, but when he notices how much she’s shaking, he decides to take mercy on her. He pulls on the hook of her elbow, drawing her right hand out of its hiding place. “Here. If you’re so concerned about fashion, I don’t think sticking a hand in your jacket is in style anymore.”

Marinette looks at him, lips parted, caught off guard. He can’t help but notice how pretty she looks, eyes bright, street lights reflecting off her lip gloss.

Glancing away, he slips her hand into his coat pocket, enclosing her fingers in his own. Her hand feels tiny, like a child’s compared to his. Even though he’s held girls’ hands before,  _ her  _ hand sends tingles up his arm that he’s never felt before. His chest warms with affection, and he hopes she can’t see the flush stealing across his cheeks. This isn’t supposed to be a date, after all.

“Better?” he asks, eyes trained on the entrance to the concert hall some fifty paces ahead.

“Much.” Her response is soft, her chilled hand docile in his grip. He rubs his thumb in circles on her skin to warm her with the friction.

He remembers a day as frigid as this one, twelve years ago, and another hand as cold as hers. For a moment, he stops feeling flustered about Marinette’s hand in his pocket as the memory sours his gut.

Marinette twines her other hand around Adrien’s arm, tucking it against his body to huddle closer. That brings him back to the present. His heartbeat quickens as she presses into his shoulder, and the stray wisps of her hair whip his cheek, tossed by the wind.

“Almost there, Princess,” he murmurs. They take the broad steps up to the concert hall, legs moving in tandem as if bound together.

—

Marinette leans over to whisper in Adrien’s ear for the fifth time since the concert started.

She’s probably the type who likes to talk during movies, too. The thought occurs to Adrien that he should find out. He’s just bought a new 4K curved monitor for his bedroom theatre and wants to show it off.

“This part’s not so bad,” Marinette evaluates. “I could listen to this for pleasure.”

She shifts back to normal sitting position, but her subtle floral perfume lingers. Adrien inhales slowly, trying to imprint the fragrance in his mind—soft edges, apple and magnolia.

On second thought, maybe the occasional concert is enough extended physical closeness.

The thought of sitting together on his bed for hours in the dark, with her leaning in every ten seconds to whisper her running commentary… no one in the room but the two of them…

Appealing, but probably not a good idea. If they watch a movie together, they can do it in the library or a common room with headphones.

The piece shifts to a new movement, an atonal cloud of notes climbing up the staff like an angry swarm of possessed bees.

“Never mind.” Marinette’s lips are suddenly at his ear again, sending an involuntary shudder through him that he tries to conceal. “I was thinking I’d give contemporary music a chance after that last movement, but they always have to insert something like this. I’m a little disappointed that it keeps fulfilling my expectations. I admire Nathaniel’s endurance.”

Adrien admittedly doesn’t know much about contemporary music. He and Marinette are only here to support Nathaniel, a cellist from their chamber orchestra class and friend of Marinette’s. He’s part of the Contemporary Composition Chamber Project—an extracurricular orchestra that plays original works by students in the composition program.

“Let’s be fair,” Adrien whispers back. “The last movement was… not bad. And ‘contemporary’ is such a broad label. There’s got to be a happy medium between minimalist and screeching cats somewhere in the contemporary music spectrum that doesn’t get accused of being too traditional.”

“What’s wrong with ‘traditional,’ anyway? I think it’s unfair to label the Classical and Romantic masterpieces as ‘traditional.’ Why do we have to rebel against what works in music?” Marinette rants in a whisper. “I mean, quarter tones? I get it in principle, but they sound horrible.”

Adrien smiles at her indignation. “I’m sure I’ve heard some examples of good contemporary music, just can’t remember any names right now. I think I’ll go on a quest…”

“Why don’t you write something?”

Adrien scoffs. “I’m not a composer.”

“Sure, Mr. Beethoven. I’ve heard some of your compositions.”

“Would you stop calling me that?” Adrien pretends to be offended, but secretly he’s tickled that she’s calling him by a nickname. He wonders if the [Composer’s Ball](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20121214/chapters/48119068) two months ago has left that much of an impression on her, too.

“Too late, it’s stuck,” Marinette teases.

Heads in the row in front of them are starting to turn.

‘Sorry,’ Adrien mouths, giving his most apologetic, sheepish smile—he’s acting completely out of line. (Marinette seems to have this effect of making him forget his surroundings.) Marinette is doing the same. She’s straightened up, but their shoulders are still touching. She’s probably doing it on purpose, to keep him at close listening range for future remarks.

He sighs, resigning himself to his fate. He can’t stop paying attention to that one point of contact for the whole rest of the concert.

—

After the concert, they get milkshakes.

“Why did we think this would be a good idea?” Marinette takes another sip, shivering despite being indoors and with her coat on. They’re too close to the entrance, and a draft swirls around them whenever someone opens the door.

“You mean, why did you think this was a good idea?” Adrien crosses his arms and shakes his head. “I warned you. But Little Miss Stubborn here wanted a milkshake.”

“All those stressful accidentals made me crave something sweet,” Marinette defends herself.

Adrien chuckles under his breath. “Why a milkshake? Could have gone with pain au chocolat, hot cocoa, freshly baked cookies, sweet crȇpes…”

“Freshly baked cookies!” Marinette squeals. “That sounds perfect. I’m making some when I get home.”

Adrien’s lips stretch into an unconscious, silly grin at her childlike excitement. He loves watching her get worked up about something. “I miss your macarons,” he blurts out.

“Really?” Marinette clicks her tongue. “I’ve been a terrible friend. I’ve neglected you. Remind me to bring you some next week… I won’t have time to make macarons until Sunday.”

“You’re too sweet, Angel.” Adrien smiles charmingly and takes a long sip of his frosty, strawberry-flavored drink.

Marinette looks like she’s about to retort, but instead she turns her attention to her own milkshake, cheeks rosy pink and concave as she sucks on the straw.

She looks up, catching him staring, and Adrien looks away reflexively before he can reason that it’s perfectly normal to be looking at his friend.

Yet, he isn’t oblivious to what’s happening… he recognizes this dance. He’s had enough experience with girls that he can guess her thoughts probably aren’t far from his own. He can see it in her hesitation, in the way her eyes linger on him, trying to gauge his next move.

If she were any other girl, he would have no reservations about taking the next step. He’d touch her hand and put words to this ambiguous feeling in the air between them— _ ‘You know, I really like you. I have for a while, actually.’ _

She would blush and murmur that she likes him too (he’s almost positive).

They would watch their hands entwining, causing fireworks in their hearts, and know something has changed.

When they walk out of this diner, they would link arms and talk about mindless topics, only half paying attention to the words, mostly reveling in the blessed feeling of being so lucky as to have their feelings returned, and wondering—dreaming of—what the new ‘us’ might be like.

But this isn’t any other girl—this is Marinette. He doesn’t just like the way she smiles, or find her conversation interesting. She isn’t just pleasant company. She isn’t someone he can casually date for a while and move on from. He can feel himself sliding down a dangerous slope with her, and if he goes down that path, there is no coming back in one piece.

He finishes his milkshake and takes out his phone to check emails while she finishes hers.

They talk about the concert on the subway ride back.

Adrien’s stop is before hers. He opens his arms for a hug before they part, melting when she tucks herself under his chin. He loves the scent of her perfume. It’s so her, and he knows the ghost of that perfume is going to be on his mind for days.

He holds the hug a little longer than usual, and she doesn’t seem to mind.

The doors start to close.

“Adrien! Go!” Marinette literally pushes him away, and he jumps into the narrowing crevice between the doors. The sensor activates, and the doors reverse, allowing him to escape.

Marinette gives him a smile and a wave through the window. He’s frozen on the platform, watching the train build speed and feeling the ache, as if he’s left a piece of his heart onboard.

When did parting ways from Marinette start feeling like that every time?

He’ll see her again tomorrow at chamber orchestra rehearsal, so it would be silly to say it’s because he misses her. What he’s mourning is the opportunity he’s deliberately letting slide.

Adrien decides even going to concerts with Marinette isn’t a good idea. Becoming close—even best—friends with her has been like quicksand, and date-like situations like this one make it too obvious how easy it would be to sink even deeper. He doesn’t know if he’ll have the fortitude to resist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello there. What did you think of this first chapter? Let me know what you liked, what you didn't like, or any thoughts that came to mind! I definitely feel that I can improve as a writer, so I'll take any feedback you have to offer. ^_^


	2. Out of the Comfort Zone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marinette is under end-of-semester stress. Adrien, who seems to have it all figured out despite being under the same pressure as everyone else, proposes a solution.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Back again with a new chapter! I love writing this AU. Most of this chapter has actually been written for a while, but I had to add a bit and make a few tweaks (like putting it in present-tense) to make sure all the details are consistent with the current timeline. If you notice anything still in past tense, sorry, and please let me know! Hope you enjoy the chapter.

“Hey… are you okay?” 

Marinette’s heart hiccups at the sound of the soft voice. Setting her bow inside the case, she turns around to find Adrien with an arm propped on the back of her chair.

“Yeah, of course.” Her face breaks into a rusty smile that calls her attention to how little she’s actually smiled today. “Why do you ask?”

“I dunno, you just… seemed stressed.” Adrien comes around to her front, so she doesn’t have to crane her neck to see him, and hooks his thumbs in his pockets. “Not like your usual self.”

“Ah… what tipped you off?” Marinette is surprised he’s noticed. The piano is right behind the first violin section, and her back has been turned to him all throughout rehearsal.

“For one thing, you didn’t talk to your stand partner at all today. For another—and more importantly _to me_ anyway—you didn’t even say hello on your way in.” He accompanies the accusation with a puckish grin that’s probably meant to cheer her up, but instead needles her with guilt.

“Sorry,” she apologises hastily, cheeks coloring.

“Hey, I’m kidding.” He picks up on her too-serious tone and places a hand on her arm, squeezing gently. “I just wanted to check if you were okay.”

“Well…” She sighs, wiping her violin strings, then places the instrument in its cradle. “Yes, I’m stressed. But isn’t everyone? Finals, concert prep, auditions…”

“Hmm… may I propose some therapy?” Adrien cocks his head and squints at her, forefinger and thumb forming a comical ‘v’ around his chin. 

She can’t help but smile at his behavior. He looks like a cartoon character. “Sure, what kind of therapy?”

“Improv,” Adrien announces with flair in his voice, as if he expects her to be bowled over by his genius.

Marinette blinks and narrows her eyes. “… Improv?”

“Yeah, have you ever been to an improv session? There’s a group that meets every Wednesday. In other words, today.” His face is practically glowing with excitement.

“Adrien…” Marinette purses her lips, loath to let him down. She appreciates his concern, but how does he imagine adding more extracurricular activities will help her with time management? “Thanks for the suggestion, but honestly, I’m not really a fan of improv, and plus… I already have too much to do in too little time.”

She closes her violin case, then lets out a yelp when a faint clatter reminds her that the bow clip wasn’t turned. She re-opens the case, wincing at the way the hairs have tangled in the fine tuning peg, and gingerly picks them out, locking the bow in properly this time. She’s a mess.

Adrien watches this, but mercifully does not comment. He shifts his weight, running a hand through his hair. “I know you don’t think it will help, but you’d be surprised how much more smoothly everything goes when your mind is in a good place. It’s only thirty minutes, and we can leave early if you want. Just a short break to clear your mind.”

“… Okay,” Marinette gives in, already feeling the tug of regret in the back of her mind. But so far, listening to Adrien’s advice has yielded good results, so she’s willing to give it a try. “What time?

—

Marinette isn’t comfortable with not being in control.

She likes the idea that her skill level is directly dependent on how much she practices.

She likes the feeling of conquering a difficult piece. No matter how intimidating a sheet of music may look at first sight, once she knows it, the piece becomes part of her, ingrained in her fingers and her heart—she can play it fast, slow, with her eyes closed, and it’ll always be the same.

Needless to say, improv is not her thing. She wonders how she thought going along with Adrien’s suggestion could _possibly_ help her with stress relief, as so far her stress seems to be peaking at critical levels.

There are about fifteen of them gathered in a classroom, some brass and wind players, a couple vocalists, a double bassist, Adrien on the piano, and even (embarrassingly) an interpretive dancer. Marinette is surprisingly the only violinist.

“I feel out of place,” she admits, leaning in to whisper to Adrien. She’s picked a chair near the piano to soak up moral support from her friend.

“Loosen up,” Adrien whispers back, grinning. “There are no expectations here. This is a no-judgment zone.”

The bassist starts a walking beat, a little jazzy, and the other instruments come in one by one. The dancer begins to move around the floor, and a mild feeling of sympathetic embarrassment clenches Marinette’s gut as she watches the girl’s flailing arms, arching back, dramatic expressions. She’s never been one for interpretive dance.

_No judgment,_ she repeats in her head, reminding herself to be nice and open-minded.

“Maybe I should just go practice my Paganini,” she mutters.

“Don’t chicken out,” Adrien taunts her, jumping on the tune with a jaunty ragtime line. “It doesn’t have to be complicated. Just stay in the key and be free!”

Marinette lifts her violin, feeling very uncomfortable. She’s the only person not playing, and she can feel the expectant eyes of the other players land on her as they notice her hesitation. Squeezing her eyes shut, she tries to forget about them, plucking in the darkness for a melody.

Key of D. Syncopated common time.

So not her style, but…

_Here we go._

She pulls the bow across the strings, making sure her tones lock in with what’s going on around her. For a few measures, it sounds good, then she plays a sour note. Her face heats up, and she struggles to keep her mind on what’s happening _now_ instead of running off on a tangent about what the others will think of her.

There. Back on track.

“You’re doing it,” Adrien’s voice sounds on her left. Marinette opens her eyes, catching a glimpse of the smile he flashes her before turning his eyes back to the keys.

Her chest warms, and she keeps playing. It still feels awkward and stilted, but the embers are alive. She feels alive. The music feels like water running through her, too quick to catch, dislodging the crust of worries and stress clinging to the recesses of her mind.

“Give it more of yourself,” Adrien urges.

“I’m trying,” Marinette hisses, then sucks in a deep breath. It takes a lot of focus to talk while paying attention to where the music is going, so she speaks in short bursts. “I’m not free yet.”

She closes her eyes again, trying to lose herself in the current of sound. Trying to _feel_ , and be led by the feeling.

She’s out of her comfort zone for sure, but she feels safe with Adrien to accompany her.

—

“Thanks for forcing me through that,” Marinette tells Adrien over a cup of hot chocolate, nestled in the window seat of their favorite café across from the campus entrance, and pops the last chunk of her croque monsieur in her mouth. The improv session didn’t last long, but it made her hungry, and she needs energy before starting her busy night. “I feel… released, somehow, and energized. Ready to grind.”

She grins, and it comes naturally this time.

“I’m glad you decided to come, and _really_ glad it helped. I love improv.” Marinette can see how much, from the way Adrien’s eyes twinkle. “It’s awesome to just fool around with other musicians. Training as a soloist can get lonely.”

“… I guess.” Though she can see where he’s coming from, Marinette doesn’t fully agree. Long hours in the practice room rarely make her feel lonely. On the contrary, spending time among other musicians makes her crave more alone-time to hone her skills. “How long have you played the piano?”

“Since I was three. My mom taught me, before she passed away.” Adrien’s eyes soften as he mentions his mother.

“I’m sorry,” Marinette breathes.

“It’s okay, it was a long time ago,” Adrien assures her, though the tinge of red in the rims of his eyes indicates he isn't as ‘okay’ with it as he pretends to be. “I was twelve when she passed away. She’d been sick for years, so we had time to get used to the idea of her leaving us.”

Marinette sips her hot chocolate, feeling sorry but not sure what to say. “Was she a pianist, too?”

“Yes,” Adrien answers. “She was amazing, but raising me was her main priority, and her career was only getting started when she passed. I think that’s why my father puts so much pressure on me. He feels like he owes it to her to make sure I… succeed.”

He almost spits out the word ‘succeed,’ and Marinette senses animosity around the subject.

“You don’t want to be a soloist?” Marinette guesses.

“I love playing the piano, don’t get me wrong,” Adrien sighs, steam from his open cup rising in front of his face. He blows on it and takes a small sip. “I just don’t care if I’m famous. And a life of traveling from place to place, barely getting to know anyone, just doesn’t seem appealing to me. Ten concerts a year is tiring enough.”

“Ten concerts? Wow.” Marinette is impressed.

“That’s not that many, actually. I know people who do like twenty or thirty.” Adrien shrugs.

“I mean, the only concerts I have are through the school.”

Marinette feels insignificant, and she remembers she’s speaking with Adrien Agreste, piano prodigy, son of Gabriel Agreste, the world-renowned violinist that she’s admired ever since she was a child. She didn't find that out until relatively recently, and they've only begun to get to know actual facts about one another, beyond just joking around or chatting about the pieces they're playing. Plus, her dynamic with Adrien is so comfortable, she often forgets he’s famous and has been in the public eye almost since birth.

With the sudden, momentary awareness of the gap between them, Marinette wonders if she can make it… or if her ambition is just a delusion.

Adrien peers at her. “What year are you in? It’s my last year, so I’m supposed to be getting ready to go out into the world…”

“Second. I’m doing a five year program,” Marinette mumbles.

“Yeah, see? You have time, so don’t worry, and— _don’t_ compare yourself.” He says it as if he can see the thoughts popping up in Marinette’s mind and is determined to shoot them down like clay pigeons.

“Anyway, to be honest, I couldn’t care less about fame or what my dad calls success. I live for moments like these.” He smiles at her across the table, his tousled blond locks framing his face in a very fetching way. “Having cocoa with a friend.”

Heat rises to Marinette’s cheeks. She can’t admit right now that she is very much enjoying the moment, too. She sidesteps with, “I don’t care about _fame,_ I just want to be able to make it as a soloist. To be able to support myself and my parents, once they get too old to run the bakery. And if I couldn’t do music, I don’t know what I’d do…”

“You could always teach, or play for an orchestra,” he offers. “Not that I’m trying to discourage you, at all. Just wanted to point out that you have options in music besides becoming a soloist.”

Something about his suggestion niggles in Marinette’s heart. She feels like the truth would sound too arrogant: that she wants people to hear her play. She doesn’t want her voice to blend in with an orchestra. She wants to dazzle her audience and deliver her heart to them, transport them to another world. It isn’t the fame that’s appealing to her—she wants her music to change people.

Her current skill level seems laughable and unworthy, and she feels irrationally that he’d mock her if she admits to where she’s aiming. (Irrational, because he’s only ever been supportive, and despite being even busier than her, he goes out of his way to help her—like tonight.)

She keeps her thoughts to herself.

“You’re on the path to making your dreams come true, Marinette,” Adrien encourages her, his smile a little wry.

The thought occurs to Marinette that maybe Adrien doesn’t even want to go to this school. “Are you _only_ here because of your father?” she asks cautiously.

“I’m here because I enjoy your company.” Adrien grins over his tea.

Marinette blushes again. “You know what I meant.”

He sighs. “No, I love music, I really do. I love playing the piano. But… can I confess something to you?”

“What?”

Adrien leans forward and clears his throat, lowering his voice. “I’ve never told anyone about this.”

Marinette waits, giving him her full attention, leaning in so she won’t miss a word.

“There’s a jazz club I like to go to in the evenings, and I play the piano there. I really like it—the people are great, the regulars are really talented, and I feel like I get to be myself there.”

The environment seems to suit him, Marinette thinks. “So if you had your way, you’d get away from your father and join a jazz band?”

Adrien chuckles. “Maybe. But I know my success as a classical soloist is important to him. So while I’m in school anyway, I promised to do my best.”

“Tell me more about this jazz club,” Marinette whispers, leaning closer.

Adrien’s eyes sparkle at her words. “When I’m there, I can forget my father, the pressure to be perfect, and everything—and just be alive.”

Marinette gets it, as of tonight. She felt that way during the improv session. It’s a different sort of feeling alive from getting a piece right or playing a concert.

Which reminds Marinette that she needs to get in a few hours of practice tonight before sinking into a mountain of homework and studying, none of which is an option to skip so close to finals. She groans. “Sorry, Adrien, but I really need to go. And I’m sure you have stuff to do, too.”

“All right,” he sighs reluctantly, replacing the cap on his to-go cup and getting to his feet.

He grabs hold of the subway handle on Marinette’s violin case, to make it easier for her to shrug on the straps backpack-style.

“Thanks,” she smiles. He really is the sweetest friend.

He returns a somewhat melancholy, lopsided smile. “Marinette, you have to promise me you won’t tell anyone about the jazz club.”

“I won’t,” she vows, a little confused. “But why? If you don’t mind my asking.”

“Like I said, I haven’t told anyone. And no one there knows who I am, except one of the owners.” He’s still smiling, but the mirth has drained from his eyes, and the pull of his lips looks bitter. “Some of the patrons know my father, and if anyone found out who I am, the word would make it back to him quickly. That would be the end of moonlighting at the club for me.”

“Why?”

“Father would never let me waste time at a jazz club,” he admits softly.

“But you love it,” Marinette protests, mildly appalled.

Adrien shrugs. “That’s not important to him.”

Marinette thought she respected Mr. Agreste, but she likes him less the more Adrien talks about him. “Your secret is safe with me,” she assures.

“Why don’t you come sometime?” Adrien invites as they walk out the door.

“Maybe, but I’m not really a fan of jazz,” she admits gently.

“For me?” Adrien making a cute, pleading face.

“I said _maybe,”_ she repeats, pushing his nose playfully.

He looks a little disappointed, but not too much. As they head toward the practice wing, they chat comfortably, and Marinette can’t help but feel like they’ve known each other for years instead of only months.

—

That night, Marinette is surprised to find a text from Adrien when she plugs in her phone to charge. She didn’t hear a notification.

**_Adrien:_ ** _Here’s a link to the one and only album my mom released. It’s nice to listen to while falling asleep._

There’s a dropbox link, which Marinette clicks, downloading the files to her phone. Once she’s settled into bed, she pops in her earbuds, sets the playlist to play, and closes her eyes.

The first song is in a minor key, starting out soft and slow. Marinette doesn’t recognize it from standard classical repertoire, and the tracks aren’t named, so she wonders if it’s an original composition.

The image that comes to mind is of plump dewdrops falling from low-hanging leaves into a still pool, sending ripples across the surface of the water. Serene and beautiful, yet lonely. Marinette tries to picture what Adrien’s mother might look like, how she might have moved as she played. She wonders how many times Adrien has listened to these tracks, longing for his mother.

And as she drifts off to sleep, the thought surfaces in her mind that she might be falling in love with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! What did you think of the chapter? 
> 
> I have so many notes about this AU that I actually started a Wiki to keep everything straight. Haha. x_X; I apologize for how sporadic updates are; once I finish my main WIP, Carousel of Life, I'll definitely be more focused on this story. Just had to get this out of my system, though, _and_ today's fluff week prompt was the perfect excuse.
> 
> Hope all is well with everyone!

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on Tumblr: mireilletan.tumblr.com
> 
> Do you like this AU? I have more works in this universe:
> 
> [Broken Fugue: Solfège (Text Version)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20121214/chapters/47666317)  
> [(Or: Audio Version)](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLInlTrZshMS2MVO5URanJ3jKZ6spXzsCP)  
> A series of short-at-first-but-increasingly-longer non-chronological drabbles in the AU. Sort of like a pilot series.
> 
> [Fantaisie](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21791116/chapters/51997618)  
> Drabble dump for backstories / side-stories / playing with the extended cast.


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